Blonde Beauty
by Mariel Nightstalker
Summary: Rosalie is a married woman, but sometimes the joys of marriage just aren't enough. Pre-Vampire Rosalie HET


A/N: Just something I came up with when I was supposed to be studying for finals (which I passed with As, FYI).

Disclaimer: The original source of the song is unknown, but I came across it in Olesha's drama 'A List of Assets'.

**Blonde Beauty**

_Right amid the market place_

_Stands your basket full of lace_

_Blonde beauty_

_Blonde beauty_

_My beautiful blonde_

Rosalie was a married woman, but like many women of her social standing, she had not married for love. This became painfully obvious as her initial lust for her new husband began to die off, leaving her eyes to stray to other places.

They hosted plenty of parties, when Royce wasn't at the bank or off with his disgusting degenerate friends, and there were plenty of attractive people for her to admire there. But there was a problem. There was no way to satiate her desires; they were married or much too young to know much about the world of pleasure at all.

When she had sons, she was determined to raise them with a sounder knowledge of the world of adults by the time they reached the age of 15.

She bore her loneliness and empty nights for several slow years. She chatted and gossiped and did wifely things to maintain her dignity, but the world felt hollow and gray. Not even the roses her husband sent her every day he was away brightened her marble skies. It wasn't until she struck up a friendly relationship with Becky Saunders, a salacious woman of 34 who worked as a laundress by day and a whore by night, that a plan was hatched to alleviate some of her libido.

Informing Royce that she was visiting an ailing aunt for fortnight, she obtained rags from Becky and crept through the servant's passages with her and out into the chilly dawn of life outside of her palatial mansion.

Because wandering around in rags without an excuse could quickly get you arrested, she took up lace selling. An old woman made it, but her bones were too brittle to risk the bustle of the streets. Rosalie was paid several pennies a day for her labor, something that amused her to no end. If she saw a penny on the ground, she wouldn't bother to stoop for it.

_After market leave your lace_

_Come and see me in my place_

_Blonde beauty_

_Blonde beauty_

_My beautiful blonde_

George McCarty could be called a man of simple tastes. He knew what he liked, and he liked what he liked. Why philosophize or muddle things when they could be simple? It was this very trait that made him straighten and follow a certain lovely lady with his eyes every time he saw her pass by his shop.

Being a blacksmith, his primary source of income was shoeing horses. This meant that his shop was made of three walls and one giant set of doors. He could watch the people milling around, haggling, until his heart's content. He loved to watch people going about their day, love and hate blending together into the potion of life's drama. But there was one person he loved to watch the most, all the past week. She was dressed in rags and peddling lace like an old woman, but even rags couldn't hide what she was.

He'd been to a museum once, as a boy, with his wealthy Uncle Vick. In the gardens of that museum, surrounded by roses and creeping ivy, was a statue of a woman. The statue had been brought all the way from Greece, carved by a sculptor in ancient times. The woman was so beautiful he'd dreamed for months that she was real. She was called Venus, the goddess of Love.

And that's just who this woman was, dressed in rags as she was: a goddess, worthy of a pedestal and roses of her own.

He had to have her, no matter the cost. He didn't care if she had a husband the size of a mountain with fists like thunder, she would be his. He began to plan his approach.

_First your shoes I will unlace_

_Then your skirt off apace_

_Blonde beauty_

_Blonde beauty_

_My beautiful blonde_

She noticed the blacksmith the second day of her foray into the world of the streets. She had no trouble finding company for the evening and even the noon hour when workmen took their lunches, and she was relishing in the attention and physical side to men's affection. As a trophy wife, she was expected to remain sterile until children were expected from her. Out here, there was no such order and desires could be acted on as long as you didn't do it in the middle of the street.

Out of all the men who'd caught her eye, he was the most impressive. Weighted with bulk from his profession, he cut an impressive figure. Aside from that, a closer inspection proved him to be in possession of boyish dimples and kind eyes.

He was lovely, and she made sure to linger in the vicinity of his shop as often as she dared without being too suspicious. If he had a jealous wife, she had no intention of getting her eyes clawed out. Lying to her husband was one thing, but coming back without her eyeballs would be hard to cover up.

It took a week of batting her eyes and standing blatantly against the side of his shop for him to set down his hammers, wipe his hands on his cloth, and approach her. He was charming, and even handsomer than she'd thought. She would have made him chase her longer if he hadn't hit some switch inside of her that turned her from a wandering woman to a whore.

He had a room above the smithy that contained a stove and a bed. It was simple and small, but enough for one man, and sometimes, for a man and a woman.

Sitting her on the bed, he knelt in front of her and dared to touch her ankles to unlace her shoes. She smiled, liking that he was taking the time to actually undress her. The last few men she'd been with that week, although satisfying and interesting, hadn't been interested in much more than getting her on her back.

Shoes removed, he reached behind her to help her with the flimsy stays of her gown. She leaned forward at this point and laid a kiss on his mouth. he gave her the most adorable smile when she pulled back and turned her to the side to press another to the dimple at the base of her neck, normally hidden by her hair.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world."

_Dare I but a kiss to place_

_On her back and not her face_

_Blonde beauty_

_Blonde beauty_

_My beautiful blonde_

During his wife's absence to visit her deathly ill aunt, Royce decided that it was the perfect time to re-establish contact with an old mistress in town. She'd been the apple of his eye until Miss Rosalie had come sauntering into his life, but the novelty of his Rose's elegance and beauty had worn off. He could use some variety, and Giselle was just who he wanted to see.

Redheaded and possessed of a mouth as fiery as her hair, she'd kept him interested for nigh on five years. She still worked as an actress at the theater, he knew, so a simple visit and some very expensive flowers (perhaps with a bauble hidden in their petals?) would be enough to mend the bridge.

His theory proved correct, and Giselle made him feel extremely welcome in her small but lavishly-decorated apartment. It was furnished with trinkets and trendy furniture, no doubt gifts from admirers. Everything about it reeked of the forbidden, and he could barely convince himself to leave her side to handle his business.

He was unpleasantly surprised to see his wife leaning against the wall of the smithy flirting with the blacksmith. He'd been driving by in his carriage, fantasizing about Giselle's lovely breasts, when he saw a woman who was undoubtedly Rosalie. There was only one Rosalie, as much as he disliked acknowledging it. His wife was one of a kind, even in rags.

His first response was to grip his pistol, but then he stopped and re-considered. He couldn't just barge in there and reclaim his wife without understanding how she'd even gotten into town, disguised herself, and begun to seduce strange men.

Waiting outside the smithy, hidden in juniper bushes, was hell. He bore it, though, until he was sure that nothing innocent could possibly be happening above the smithy. Creeping up the stairs, pistol at the ready, he prepared his speech.

He slammed the door open.

_Look whose come to close the case_

_Blondie's man mad in my place_

_Blonde beauty_

_Blonde beauty_

_My beautiful blonde_

George McCarty was taken to prison on charges of rape, but was later released due to carelessness on the part of the clerks. Not one to take his chances, he headed West to seek his fortune.

The memory of the blonde beauty stayed with him as no matter how far he went, even after he took a wife and began a family with his wife.

Rosalie suffered a far worse fate several tense years later.

But even undead, the fire of her love lust continued to rage through her blood. Before meeting Emmett, she used to think about that dimple-cheeked man from the market, who suffered for her lust. She thought she would never see him again, until she happened across his descendent.

In retrospect, Emmett suited her better. She knew with certainty he would never stray from her side, and her interest never flagged. Even when he was childish or stupid or didn't understand her, when she wanted to kill him, he was the center of her world and the sole receiver of her passions.

_Two bloody birthmarks now deface_

_Blondie's neck so full of grace_

_Blonde beauty_

_Blonde beauty_

_My beautiful blonde_

~000~

End Blonde Beauty

I hoped you guys liked it! I thought it would be cool if Emmett's ancestors had had the same weakness he did, literally.


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